Kate Hunt

I'm having my ouzaki at an outdoor cafe on Aristotle Street. It's early evening and Thessaloniki is brimming over with life. I watch a continuous parade of people, most of them young men and girls, going about their business. I enjoy watching people going by and imagining their lives. A long time ago, in 1978, I published a short story called Centre Ville. Centre Ville is the pub in the centre of Dordrecht above which my maternal grandfather was born. It's about watching people going by and imagining their lives, it's about enjoying the beauty of young and graceful girls, it's about the melancholy that touches you when you see elderly people plodding on. It's about what you can't imagine to happen to you when you are gradually ageing yourself, though you will never admit you're anything older than twenty three. I was twenty seven when I wrote that story, beginning to feel old. At thirty I thought life was more or less over, until just before turning thirty six I met Stella which meant the beginning of the best part of my life. People in their sixties were still unimaginably old then, but years later, when Stella died of cancer at sixty one, I found that much and much too young. Time puts things in perspective. The younger you are, the heavier you feel the pressure of time.

I think of Kate Hunt, a girl in Florida that faces prison and who is in danger of having her whole life ruined for the crime of falling in love with another girl. A girl three years younger. Kate eighteen, her love fifteen. What on God's earth is wrong with two teens falling in love with each other, never mind whether they are of the same or different sex? What on God's earth can be wrong with an eighteen year old loving a fifteen year old and vice versa. It's all consensual I read about the case, but the parents of the fifteen year old have filed charges for sexual abuse and the raving idiots that run the high school Kate visited have even expelled her just before the final exams. It must be a frightful experience to fall in love in Florida and particularly when your love has such bigoted and vindictive parents. People ready for a good witch burning. The friend from whom I learned about Kate Hunt wrote on Facebook that the arrest was outrageous and indeed it is. Which law enforcement officer in his or her right mind could have Kate arrested for just following her heart? It is not as if a thirty year old starts an affair with a twelve year old, is it? The life of a young girl is purposely being destroyed because some parents hate gays. That is a most serious crime.

I think of the days in which I wrote Centre Ville. I was in a happy relationship with a girl of seventeen at the time. The first girl I had a serious relationship with was fifteen while I had just turned nineteen. Those were happy summer days on the Wirral, but we weren't gay and that was England, not the USA, home of that Lord who punishes down to the seventh generation, where carrying a gun on the streets is more acceptable than carrying a six-pack of beer, the blessed country that spreads more pornography on the internet than any other. I do hope they come to their senses in Florida. No more witch burnings!

Gulls

I'm sitting at an outdoor cafe overlooking the platia (the central square) of Skyros-town. The square is bathing in sunshine, there's a mild breeze and the temperatures have not risen to their summer extremes yet. Good weather for walking. The square is about empty but the main street is brimming over with life. There are still many Athenians who stayed on for a little while after Greek Easter. Who prefer the tranquility of an island not overrun my mass tourism to the frenzy of the metropolis. Skyros is close to Athens or far off, depending on the way you travel. By plane it's half an hour, not counting the time you have to wait at the airport. If you travel by boat you need to go down by car or bus to Kimi on Evia. The boat trip to Linaria takes approximately one hour and a half. I love sailing, I dislike driving and bussing. One of these days I may walk to Linaria, about seventy five minutes from my hotel, to find out if I can sail to Kimi and return straight away. Just to taste the salt of the Aegean Sea.

A few days ago I tasted some salt as well. On the road to Aspous, where I am staying, which runs parallel to the sea. A strong wind sent waves pounding the rocks. It made me think of that summer day in 1980 when I stood at the end of the Dingle Peninsula on the west coast of Ireland with my love of those days. The waves had flung a dolphin on the rocks. It must have been dead for days as it was heavily gnawed at. By sea-gulls, I believe. It's amazing to see gulls following the ship you're sailing in. When I hear gulls above the town, with their sad cries, I get romantic memories of Conwy in Wales where I stayed with other loves. First with a red haired elve from Cheshire and later with the dark haired love of my life, from the land of the nymphs. On Skyros lived more nymphs than anywhere else, but that's chance. Sometimes gulls cause me to become somewhat melancholic, but they happen to be cruel beasts, eager to pick out the eyes of people drowning, I have been told.

On the opposite side of the square is the town hall. The flags in front of it, the Greek and that of the European Union, make a contrast with the white-washed walls. It's a neo-classical building of moderate size. Built at the end of the nineteenth or the beginning of the twentieth century I guess. This morning Nikos gave me a lift to town. He thinks of becoming a candidate in next year's elections for mayor. I hope he succeeds. In that case he gets the key and will be able to show me around in the centre of local power. Whether it's enviable to be placed at the head of a small community in which you often find the usual human qualities of hatred, malice and jealousy, behind a facade of cordiality and hospitality, is another matter.

©C.A. Klok

Travelling England (end)

Monday, July 26, 2010:

Eastbourne

Stella's birthday. A day of farewells. Just said goodbye to the other participants at the conference. I wonder whom I will see back one day and whom never. I'm glad I went this year, as I met so many different but interesting people. The programme was good, I learned quite a bit and enjoyed the outings as they took place in a part of England I very seldom visit. I didn't write about the trip to Brighton where I was impressed by the Royal Pavilion and the scarcely dressed female students pattering around it. It was exceptionally sunny that afternoon and it had an atmosphere of eastern frivolity, though we knew better. The experience needs to sink in a bit, but at least I already wrote a poem on my visit to Chester. Glad too to have seen cousin Brian and to have had a taste of England again after such a long time. Last night a man from Manchester who migrated to Canada said: 'You're from Liverpool I guess.' I remember Wendy enjoying me talking Liverpudlian and playing angry when I spoke the English we learned at school in Holland.

Harwich:

Despite staying in London for most of the day I'm almost two hours early. They won't let us embark before the official time which is half past eight. From Eastbourne to London Victoria I travelled together with the lady from California who treated me to some of the stories she told us once or twice before. I didn't mind as it killed time and I do tend to repeat my own stories myself once in a while. Annoyingly when that happens one of my friends who does the same but doesn't realize it, is in the habit waving two or three fingers in front of my face, thinking he's awfully funny. For old time's sake I usually ignore him and never raise any of my fingers when he repeats his stories, though some of the other friends present, usually at Visser's in Dordrecht, give me a knowing smile. I kept my fingers down while the old lady chattered on.

At Victoria's we took leave after which I went to Liverpool Street station by taxi to drop off my luggage. I had a drink at the station and then set off for Tower Hill. It was too busy at the Tower to enter, so I just walked around for a while and took photographs. I sat down at Liberty Bounds on Trinity Square for a cheese bun and a few pints of Guinness, after which it was already half past three. I took the quarter to four train to Harwich, thinking I could have a drink at the port if they wouldn't let us embark straight away, but the Stena-line cafeteria is locked and I am too lazy and a little too tired to go into the town. Close by a Dutchman in shorts is continually grinning at the screen of his laptop which makes the poor man decidedly look like an imbecile. The television is on: in South London two teenagers beat a granddad to death. Just for the fun of it they told the police. There's also a family tragedy in Hampshire, where a supposedly quiet and friendly family man killed his wife and two daughters with a knife after which he hanged himself. It will be cloudy and rain is expected overnight. I want to get on that ship, have a shower and then go for a few glasses of red wine.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010:

Stena Hollandica

I've got a very luxurious cabin again, right under the bridge, looking forward to the bow of the ship. We're drawing close to Hoek van Holland. On starboard the first signs of the Maasvlakte: wisps of smoke and a long row of tiny looking windmills that spoil the view. The nice cabin and the friendly staff at dinner make up for the delay of half an hour when embarking. I therefore had a late dinner, around eleven, but plentiful and sprinkled with good wine. No need for breakfast. The crossing was very calm, water like oil as the Greeks say. The weather looks fine, at least it's dry. Now I only have to brave the Dutch railways to get home by ten this morning.

Travelling England (9)

Saturday, July 24, 2010:

Eastbourne

After dinner last night we went to see a 19th century magic lantern show at the Albany Hotel (all the Lion-hotels used for the conference are owned by the same Arab sheikh, I've been told). Fun to see and to realize that no one in it's days of origin could have imagined we would be living in a world with movies, television and the internet. Maybe Dickens himself did see some of the pictures. The man working the lantern was assisted by an incredibly sexy girl of about eighteen, maybe his granddaughter, wearing a miniskirt and a shirt with a very low neckline, which quite distracted me and some of the other gentlemen. At dinner I happened to sit next to another sexy lady, a young assistant professor of English at the University of Kraków in Poland. Friendly, good looking, excellent English, quite my type, but married. We ended the evening in a small company (Pieter, Ann and one or two others) with a beer on the Edwardian pier right in front of my hotel, being reminded this is England because just before eleven it was 'last orders, please!'

With one or two exceptions the staff in all the Lion-hotels is foreign, most of them from Eastern Europe I believe, judging from the accents. Almost all of them good looking and very friendly girls, but I wonder if they make the same money as English workers and if they are members of any British trade union. Capitalism is more and more showing it's nasty side again, the side Dickens already fulminated against.

Sunday, July 25, 2010:

Eastbourne

Had Stella lived she would greatly have enjoyed last night's banquet. The beautiful dresses, some straight from the days of Dickens, the Irish music, very well played by Udita Everett and Magdalena Reising, the well worded 'Immortal Memory' by professor Michael Slater. It was like going back to the 19th century. 'The 19th century is my favorite era', Stella would say from time to time, 'I would like to live in those days.' I usually answered that it would be all very well providing you were healthy and rich. I'm more in favour of the 18th or the early 19th century, as I can't stand the hypocritical moralism of the Victorian Age very well.

Yesterday morning we did business at the General Meeting. I was moved by hearing Stella's name included in the list of deceased members who were commemorated. It almost brought tears to my eyes. I had quite forgotten Pieter de Groot told me last year he had given notice to headquarters of her passing away

This morning we had three excellent lectures again. One on the illnesses in the books of Dickens, connected with the unspeakable filthiness of London in the first half of the 19th century, the second on the managers who organized Dickens's reading tours and the third on what happened to the girls who lived in Urania Cottage. Afterwards a generous lunch. I only took some vegetarian lasagna and a bowl of fruit otherwise I would hardly be eating at dinner. No wonder there are so many very fat people in Britain.

After lunch I had three quarter's of an hour before the coach ride to Beachy Head. I smoked a pipe on the porch of the Chatsworth and watched the people strolling by. Not all of them old age pensioners. The beach does attract a number of young people as well, taking a day trip like we used to do going to Southport, Llandudno or New Brighton in uncle Harold's car or, in the case of Llandudno sometimes by boat from Liverpool. The ride to Beachy Head was on an open top double decker, which was most uncomfortable because of the cold wind. It was chilly too because of the sea mist on the cliffs. I meant to walk back to Eastbourne but in the end I thought it was too cold to enjoy it. On the ride back I took one of the few seats inside, but there was a draft which made it almost as unpleasant as on top. Fortunately it was only a short ride. Back in town I had a stroll with Yasuko along the water front after which she went to evensong. I don't think she's a christian, though I'm not sure, but I imagine she went for the experience. I went to my room to pick up a book and do some reading in the bar of the Chatsworth, waiting for dinner. I had no wish to enter a church and particularly not on the day before Stella's birthday. I'm growing allergic to hallelujah and praise the Lord.

Travelling England (8)

Friday, July23, 2010:

Eastbourne

The weather was fine again yesterday when we drove through Sussex and Kent to Rochester. A nice but somewhat long ride of two and a half hours. I was happy to get out never feeling too well on coaches. I sat next to an elderly but lively lady from California who greatly enjoys her wine and a good talk, though her ideas about Dickens seem a little puritan to me. She told me her husband died of a heart attack while working on the Hubble telescope.

Dickens' World is a nice attraction for children on a school trip but I felt myself a bit too grown up for it. I did enjoy myself however at The Six Jolly Old Porters before lunch: a buffet we would regard as just appetizers in Holland. There were no knives and forks provided which I thought rather messy and quite unhygienic. Yet I ate a fair bit to avoid travelling back in the coach on an empty stomach. There was some good red wine though, to the enjoyment of the lady from California and myself.

Gad's Hill Place was more interesting. I didn't know there's a school in it now. The headmaster could be straight from one of Dickens's books should we judge him by half the alphabet behind his name. He wasn't present, perhaps to avoid an unpleasant comparison with one of the angry, cruel and intellectually not very impressive schoolmasters that crowd the works of Dickens. There were still some remnants from the days of Dickens like the famous decorations on the stairs and the study which is now the headmaster's office. Much has been done to preserve something of the atmosphere of the days when Dickens was living in the house. The school will move out of the place in two years time, we were told, and there seem to be plans to turn it into a museum. We were taken around by a very attractive young lady in charge of the school's public relations who did a very good job.

Returning to Eastbourne we had a pleasant dinner at the Chatsworth followed by a spectacular performance by Gerald Dickens, the actor who read from the works of his great grandfather exactly as we know Dickens himself would have done. He was accompanied by a fine looking woman, Elizabeth Hayes, who played the piano. I bought her CD afterwards.

It's interesting to meet people from all over the world. Today I had a talk with a lady from Japan, teaching English at some university out there. I found it a little hard to understand her at times, but as her English was infinitely better than my Japanese we got by. We had three lectures this morning. Professor John Bowen on Hard Times, Michael Madden on legal practice in Dickens's time compared to the present and Jacky Bratton on Dickens as a dramatist. They were all most interesting and presented with much enthusiasm. Fortunately no one reading aloud from a piece of paper. I usually doze off after a while, but not this morning. Just after the last lecture, when it was time for questions and answers, the fire alarm went off, but everyone remained seated as if nothing was the matter. After a few minutes the alarm stopped and we learned nothing was the matter indeed. After lunch we had a short ride to Penvensy to see the remains of the Roman fortress in which William the Conqueror built a Norman castle, also reduced to a ruin through the ages. Penvensy looks a pastoral medieval village in which I felt quite at home. The temperature could have been a little more friendly, but at least it didn't rain.

Travelling England (7)

Wednesday, July 12, 2010:

Eastbourne, Clairmont hotel, room 126.

The train left and arrived exactly on time. A taxi put me off at the Chatsworth hotel where we are supposed to register for the Annual Conference (of the International Dickens Fellowship) later this afternoon. I wasn't on the list of guests. After one or two telephone calls I was told I am staying at the Clairmont, just a few hundred yards further down the road. That's how it goes. I was one of the first to pay the complete fee thinking that would guarantee a room at the Chatsworth overlooking the sea. However, I am now at ten minutes walk away with a room at the back, overlooking an alleyway. It's a large room though, it's more quiet at the back and I will see enough of the sea anyway in the coming days. Besides it's on the ground floor and it has a very large bathroom, actually for the use of invalids. No idea how they got the idea I would be an invalid, but I hate being high up in hotels and I don't like small bathrooms, so I'm quite fine where I am. I'll be off for a pint before I go to register and get the definite programme of the conference.

I arrived in sunny weather, but when I left the hotel again the sky was grey and it rained heavily. After a few minutes I went back to the Clairmont for a Guinness on the porch. I smoked a cigar and had a friendly talk about nothing with an elderly gentleman sheltering from the rain. I was told Eastbourne is one large old people's home and looking at the people passing by I got the idea I am one of the youngest here, though every now and again small groups of children obviously on a school trip sauntered disappointed along the seafront, which by the way is beautifully decorated with blossoming flowers.

Thursday, July 13, 2010:

Eastbourne

Yesterday it rained for over three hours, but then the sun returned. After my Guinness and my chat I went to the Chatsworth, the seat of the conference, where I registered and got the programme. More and more Dickensians arrived from all over the world. Amongst them many Americans and Pieter de Groot, our secretary, with his Irish wife Ann. The three of us somewhat younger than most of the participants. Quite a number of retired officers who readily believed the story I told them of my military career as a young lieutenant with the Dutch forces in Surinam at the beginning of the 1970's. One sweet elderly lady, born in England but living in Australia, looked so strikingly like my aunt Ann from Newton-le-Willows that they easily could have been twin sisters. Dinner was surprisingly good and the atmosphere congenial, almost like we were old friends getting together after so many years, which actually will be the case for many people who regularly attend the Annual Conference. Afterwards the mayor of Eastbourne gave a reception which was the formal part of the evening. Unfortunately the president of the Fellowship is still on his way from Scotland, being delayed by the bad weather in the north. Walking back to the Clairmont I watched a brass band playing at the seafront after which there was a display of fireworks. I watched it for a little while but feeling tired I went to my room quite early for a good night's rest.

Travelling England (6)

Tuesday, July 20, 2010:

London

A surprisingly nice day, yesterday, but now it's cloudy again. Under the clouds one aeroplane after the other, since we're in a flightpath to Heathrow. They are not much of a nuisance, still flying reasonably high, but the helicopters are. Gigantic, angry horseflies. I arrived in London around four o' clock and took a taxi from Euston station to Fulham. The Eastbourne trains run from Victoria, which has a direct connection with Parson's Green, so tomorrow I'll take the underground. Taxi's are expensive in London. Even more than in Holland. Had a nice walk with Debby and Saskia in the gardens of Fulham Palace, but when we went for a drink at the cafe, around five thirty, it had already closed, just like the one at the other end of the park. They know how to make money. We went to The White Horse on the Green instead. We sat outdoors so I could smoke my pipe. I noticed the people around looked a fair bit less rough than in Chester. It's either imagination, the effect of the weather or I went to the wrong places up north. They served quite a collection of Belgian beers but alas all of them triples whereas I only drink dubbel. We had dinner in the garden at Debby's, after which we had a long talk about John and Stella. She had a lot of support from John's friends after he died, and still has, just like my friends did a lot to drag me through the aftermath of Stella's illness and death.

No news about a new government or not in Holland. It's five hours sailing to the east, but it seems non-existent in the news. We tend to think that Holland, particularly Amsterdam, is the centre of the world. Compared to London and even Thessaloniki it's a provincial backwater. Never mind Dordrecht. Just a dormitory suburb of Rotterdam, but when I'm having a drink on a nice summer day at the river side, it is the centre of the world again.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010:

London

The house is still asleep, but I did already pack my suitcase for the trip to Eastbourne. We slept early last night after I took Debby and Saskia out for dinner at a local Italian restaurant. Willem is staying with a friend. Fairly good pizza's but not as good as those of Costa d' Oro in Dordrecht. A nice place run by nice people, but unfortunately it was too cold to eat outside.

Yesterday I took it easy. I went to Victoria station to get my ticket for Eastbourne and had a look around the local W.H. Smith where I bought Annette Carson's Richard III. The Maligned King. It was too early for a pint but we were to have lunch at around one, so I had some time to kill. I remembered that nice place, The Troubadour, in Old Brompton Road where I met with Moniza Alvi last year, so I took the tube to Earl's Court from where it is a short walk. It has a nice secluded garden where I had a cappuccino and smoked my pipe. I did a bit of quiet reading as well before returning to Fulham. After lunch I sat in Debby's garden and finished reading The Return of Captain John Emmett, a fascinating historical novel and very well written.

I seem to have left Chester just in time, because in the northwest they had days of heavy weather whereas it was quite nice down here.

Talking at lunch Debby and I were wondering how people can still believe in the humbug of christianity. There's one activity at the Annual Conference I will definitely give a miss and that's going to church on Sunday.